


The Trouble with Trusting

by scaryfangirl2001



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Dan Howell and Phil Lester Are Teenagers, Female PJ, New Kid Dan Howell, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaryfangirl2001/pseuds/scaryfangirl2001





	The Trouble with Trusting

Everyone at Esakko High knows or knows of Phil Lester. He’s pretty tall and extremely pale, in contrast with his raven hair and shining eyes. He is incredibly optimistic and loves to be a part of the school’s nervous system. He has successfully gotten (most of) the (physical) bullies out of the halls just by starting a petition his sophomore year. He has many friends, but he knows they aren’t real. Despite his openly forward personality, people are scared of him.

  


There is talk on the dark side of town – of a certain Lester working the mob. Of course, as rumors go, this one has bent and twisted. Now, it has gotten back to the high school that Phil’s dad is a Mafia boss. He denies it, stating that ‘Lester’ is a common surname and his dad is simply out of the picture. They don’t listen and several people recount how much this boss looks like Phil – sounding much like one of the loons who claim they’ve been abducted.

  


There are times Phil wishes the bullies were still advancing him, like in grammar school. At least with grade school bullies, they come right at you. They don’t whisper behind your back and flash you guilty, frightened smiles. Phil shakes his head in disappointment. Oftentimes, it gets to him. He is a very sensitive person and the accusations can sometimes be too much. He decides to skip out on school and head to the park.

  


Several jocks from a rival high school are there when he arrives. Rather than continuing to graffiti the jungle gym or tease the newcomer, they drop the paint in shock. They seem to stumble out apologies of some sort, but Phil isn’t listening. He heads for the swings when something collides with his chest, causing him to fall. The other boys run off then.

  


“Sorry, so sorry.” The lump on his chest mutters. “I’m so clumsy.”

  


“S’fine,” Phil assures him, sitting up. “Never seen you around before.”

  


“Right.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Dan. Dan Howell. I’ll be starting Esakko High tomorrow.”

  


Phil smirks as he takes the other boy’s hand. “Phil Lester. I’m skipping Esakko today.”

  


Dan opens his mouth to respond but shuts it and shrugs. He follows Phil to the swingset and gets settled. Once they maintain a nice speed next to one another, Dan decides to learn more about the boy seated next to him.

  


“What grade are you in?”

  


“Senior. You?”

  


“Sophomore. Do you play any sports?”

  


“No, I’m too clumsy for it.”

  


“Yeah, me too. Unless you count my fantasy Quidditch team.”

  


“Sounds like fun,” Phil answers offhandedly. “Have any siblings?”

  


“A brother, actually. Adrian. He’s in eighth grade. A real troublemaker.”

  


“I have a brother, too. Martyn. He’s in college, though. In Liverpool.”

  


“What are your parents like?”

  


Phil doesn’t answer and snaps a little at him. “Didn’t you stay in contact with any of your friends wherever you came from?”

  


Dan sighs, slowing his swinging. Phil does the same and finally Dan talks while they are just rocking. “That’s the main reason we moved. At our old school, Adrian and I were getting picked on, beat up, by the kids in our neighborhood. It drove us to some….. bad results.”

  


“Did you try to kill yourself?” Phil’s voice is cold, as though the thought is nothing new.

  


Because of this, Dan swallows the lump in his throat and nods weakly. “Yes.”

  


Phil slaps him harshly, and then grabs his shoulders and looks him fiercely in his eyes. “Don’t you ever do something so fucking stupid again, do you hear me, Howell?”

  


Fear is present in his eyes as he nods. Phil sighs in relief and lets go. “Someone close to me’s already gone out that way, Dan. I know we’ve just met, but I can’t lose anyone else that way. You understand?”

  


“I’m sorry, Phil,” Dan answers, staring at the ground. “Was it one of your parents?”

  


“My mother.” He answers curtly as he stands up. “I’m going into work early today.”

  


“Where do you work?” Dan jumps up as well.

  


“Dunkafina Coffeehouse. It’s a bit away and my car’s in the shop.”

  


“So you just walk everywhere?”

  


“I have a bike.” He shrugs. “But I left it at work and one of my associates brought me back. It’s a distance, but I’m walking it.”

  


“Can I come with?”

  


“If you want.”

  


Dan and Phil walk in contented silence, only breaking it ever so often with Phil pointing out certain corners, trees or window fronts with a lot of history behind them. The history ranges from sad to hilarious in minutes. Finally, after about an hour of walking, they come face-to-face with Dunkafina Coffeehouse. There are many regular customers, Phil notices immediately, but with a spread of businessmen.

  


“Hey, I forgot. There’s a conference today, but tomorrow we can hang out here after school?”

  


“Yeah sure.” Dan grins. “Want to put your number in my phone?”

  


Phil nods and hands Dan his phone. He types in his number and switches the phones back as he unlocks the door. He waves back to Dan and slips into the coffeehouse. The interior is decorated nicely, with hues of burnt umber and a flaming sun. Phil ignores the hustle and bustle of the place as he heads to the back room to change into his apron and begin washing dishes.

  


Minutes later, he hears some glass shatter. Some angry slurs cover the smoky air and guns are raised. Other weapons are drawn out as metal soothes alongside the metal. A tall, pale man walks out calmly, wearing a silver mask. He has a frightening, low voice.

  


“What happened to a civil dinner, gentlemen?”

  


“The girly here sent out fermented fish.” One of the rougher men replies. “Ain’t cooked through.”

  


The tall man tsks his tongue and whips out his gun. He cocks it grudgingly and fires at the fish. The smoke clears and some shards of glass from the plate have made their way of digging into the rough man’s skin.

  


“Cooked enough, Mister Ross?”

  


He nods with a grimace, hands itching to pull out the offending glass pieces. The man in the mask tuts, moving the gun in a scolding manner.

  


“Don’t pick at it. It’ll only get worse.”

  


The man in the mask turns to face a small crowd gathered at a booth table. There is a shiny silver briefcase as well as a couple of knives still in sheaths. An aluminum baseball bat leans against the foot of the table and the man in the mask walks over. He picks up the bat and turns to face the leader of the pack.

  


“Did he pay up?”

  


“Five hundred.”

  


The man tsks quietly. “Terrence, may I see your knife?”

  


A slightly pudgy man quickly searches his body and pulls out a pocketknife from his chest pocket. The man in charge inspects it. He watches the blade protrude and he scrutinizes it carefully.

  


“Nicolas, may I see your knife?”

  


The leader of the pack eyes him but pulls his knife from his back pocket. The boss looks over it as well, sighing as the blade slips open.

  


“Half a second quicker than Terrence’s blade.” He remarks. “Still, you were only able to get five hundred from Mister Delcampo? He is behind by another five.” He turns to completely face Nicolas, causing him to back into the table. “I send you to collect one thousand and you bring me half? Without even a trace of blood for insurance?”

  


“Don Michael, Sir.” He raises his hands in a plea. “He told me of a shipment coming in.”

  


“You’ve disappointed me, Nicolas.”

  


Nicolas doesn’t have a chance to respond. His neck is quickly severed with his own knife. The others flinch at the impact, but they make no farther calls. Nicolas’s body falls against the table and the boss tosses back Terrence’s knife.

  


“You’ll lead the party now. Dispose of the waste.”

  


“Am I in your graces to collect the wages, Don Michael?”

  


“No,” He shakes his head, twirling the bat. “I’ll leave that duty to our dishwasher. Good day, gentlemen.”  



End file.
